European Nation.
Northern California Bay Area, outskirts.
Two figures stood on a somewhat desolate highway. There was not another soul within five kilometers.
Although there was a roadside bar not far away, thirty minutes earlier, a group of grim-faced men in black had cleared out all the drunken patrons and truck drivers who had stopped by.
People knew better than to provoke these men in black.
Not because of the bulging pistols tucked at their waists, nor because they all wore dark sunglasses and wireless earpieces.
It was because when they acted, the European Nation highway police—who called themselves "official thugs"—stood trembling at the side, not daring to utter a single word.
Once everything had quieted down.
The two figures arrived leisurely, as though out for a stroll.
One was a European Nation old man around sixty, fat-bellied, with slicked-back blond hair and a mouth that practically pointed toward the sky.
Beside him was an enormous man in camouflage military uniform, nearly three meters tall, with arms as thick as an ordinary person's thighs.
The huge man wore oversized sunglasses and had blond hair as well. His aura was fierce, yet he followed silently at the European Nation old man's side.
The European Nation old man stretched his arms, tugged down his sleeves, then hooked both thumbs into his suit belt. He puffed out his stomach and surveyed the hazy clusters of buildings in Northern California.
"Mm."
"My free European Nation territory."
"Even the air is this sweet."
The European Nation old man closed his eyes and took a deep breath, only to catch the pungent odor of tire friction left behind by heavy trucks braking.
"Cough, cough."
Covering his nose, the European Nation old man coughed violently several times. He said through his fingers, "Although, as the leader of